Blind
by JJJJ12
Summary: Sherlock believes Molly and John are dating. His jealous and stand-offish attitude gives John an idea. Soon, John and Molly's 'relationship' gives the emotionally unavailable detective no choice but to acknowledge his feelings for his favorite pathologist.
1. The Discovery

Ever since Mary's death and Sherlock's downward spiral, John had become a creature of habit. Since life with a toddler and a crime-fighting detective was unpredictable, John was determined to control whatever normalcy he had left. As a result, his non-case days were normally the same, filled with watching the same programs on the telly, eating the same few meals, and reading the same few books to Rosie.

The routine kept him sane, and allowed him to feel like he had some, albeit small, say in his life. This desire was what pushed him to grab the same cup of coffee and croissant from the same bakery down the street from his current job.

Every day that the clock struck 11:30, John would race down the street, excited for the taste of warm buttery goodness and a desperate dose of caffeine. Coincidentally, this routine was what mimicked by a little old lady, one who always found herself sitting at the counter, drinking a cup of tea and eating freshly cut fruit.

Her name was Ruth, and boy did she love John. While he used to just exchange pleasantries with the women in an attempt to preserve his alone time, he soon began to enjoy his daily conversations with the bright, albeit eccentric woman.

Today was no different.

"Truth be told, sometimes I do regret not starting a family. But, I do enjoy my dogs, and I spoil my nieces and nephews," Ruth explained, delicately biting into a bit of melon.

John nodded and sipped his coffee. "Raising a child is difficult. I love Rosie but some days she's just a monster. Not to mention, I've got no time to myself."

Ruth made a face, as if coming to a wonderful realization. "I suppose you're still single then? A man as handsome and sweet as you should not be alone."

He couldn't help but laugh. "I don't have time to date. I would love to meet a nice woman, but you know how it is. I come with baggage."

She squeezed his hand and shook her head. "The right woman will not care about such things. In fact, I think you'd make an excellent match with my grandniece."

John smiled. "Yeah? What's she like?"

Ruth smiled fondly. "Oh, Margaret is wonderful. She has the biggest heart. She's an adorable little thing. Loves animals and children. I reckon you two would suit each other well."

He considered her words, his eyes staring into his coffee cup. His brain reminded him to be picky. His heart reminded him to be cautious. But his cock, at the reminder that he hadn't shagged in a year, won out.

"I'd love to meet her."

Ruth smirked. "Splendid. Give me your mobile number and I'll set something up."

Xxx

Molly sat on the old sofa, her lap occupied by two tiny, fluffy white dogs. Her fingers were busy dragging through the fur, her eyes locked on the equally as fluffy white-haired woman across from her. That same woman took a dainty sip from her elegant tea cup.

"I insist you give him a chance. He's wonderful. Most men his age would not willingly sit down and chat up little old ladies such as myself, dear," Ruth explained, breaking off a tiny piece of her biscuit to nibble on.

Molly sighed and shifted on the sofa. "I'm sure he's lovely Aunt Ruth, but it's just… I haven't felt much like dating, recently. I have some unresolved feelings to sort through."

Well, at least she admitted it. Molly had been harboring under the delusion for months that she was well and over Sherlock. But, every time she saw him, her heart did the same flip. He never stopped sucking the air out of her lungs.

Ruth pursed her lips and watched her grandniece with slight disdain. "His name is John. He's quite handsome. Nice. He's a dentist, I believe."

Molly snorted. Then she'd really have to commit to flossing. She sighed and looked over at her Great Aunt, continuing to nibble on her lip.

"What's he like?" She asked, more curious than she would have liked to have been.

"Well, he's charming. A nice, normal gentleman. I don't think he has a hair out of line. Quite your type. Little excitement."

Molly sighed and shut her eyes, willing herself to say no. Her brain reminded her to be picky. Her heart reminded her to be cautious. But her libido, at the reminder that she hadn't shagged in a year, won out.

"I'd love to meet him."

Xxx

And that's how Molly ended up sitting in a nice restaurant in SoHo, wearing a new red dress, waiting to meet nice, normal John the Dentist. In true blind date fashion, her Aunt Ruth had set everything up, refusing to, as she explained, "let technology muck things up before you even lock eyes". Thus, Molly was told to wear red, and the Dentist was told to wear blue, the two without any form of communication.

She had her face buried in the cocktail menu, wondering what would loosen her up, when a familiar voice caught her attention. She glanced up and met the curious blue gaze of John Watson.

"Uh, Molly?" He began, staring at her with an eyebrow quirked.

Molly looked down to his blue shirt and blinked a few times. She looked back at his amused face and groaned.

"She said you were a dentist!"

He laughed. "Yeah, I don't know what that's about. She said your name was Margaret."

Molly blushed a bit. "It is. What are the odds?"

He smiled softly and shrugged before dropping into his seat. "We don't have to do this. I know it might be a bit—"

She cleared her throat and shook her head. "No. Let's have dinner. You deserve a night without Rosie, and I need a drink."

John laughed and nodded, quickly waving over the server. He ordered them a bottle of wine and looked back to Molly. "Your Aunt Ruth… She's something."

Molly giggled and bit her lip. "Yes. That she is. But, enough about her. Let's hear about your week."

He made a face that normally preceded a Sherlock story. Her heart clenched, and she could do nothing but smile.

"Where do I even begin?"

Xxx

Two hours, half a bottle of wine, and a lot of pasta later, Molly and John walked the streets of the city, the soft breeze giving the couple a pleasant chill. John laughed and zipped up his coat.

"I know I shouldn't. But… I think a puppy might be nice. I grew up with a dog. I reckon it would be good for Rosie," He explained, his eyes locked on the woman next to him.

Molly smiled. "A dog would be as much for you as it would be for her. If you think you can handle it, I fully support your choice."

He groaned but laughed. "I was hoping you'd be the voice of reason and tell me no."

She shook her head, grinning. "Not when it comes to dogs. More dogs are always the answer."

They continued to walk in silence. Although John was focused on the street and people around them, Molly could not take her eyes off him. The same thought was racing through her head.

 _Why not him?_

She frowned and pulled her jacket closer. It was the same question she had since she met the friendly doctor. Why had she fallen for Sherlock, and not a sweet and charming man like John? Why could she not forget Sherlock, when the sensible choice was standing right in front of her?

John stopped his movements in front of Molly's building, turning to smile at the petite brunette. He couldn't help but laugh as the reality of their situation hit him. But, at Molly's unhappy demeanor, he frowned.

"Are you okay?" He asked, stepping towards her, "I'm sorry if this was uncomfortable. I just—"

Molly held up her hand, cutting him off. She smiled softly and shook her head. "Not at all. If anything, I was just thinking about how nice this was."

John swallowed and nodded. "Right. Yeah. It was nice. Why do you look so…?"

She frowned and looked away. "Why do you think?"

He just nodded. "Of course," He cleared his throat and forced a smile, "I had a great time tonight."

Molly stared at the man and took a deep breath. "Can you do me a favor, John?"

"Anything, Molly."

"I want you to kiss me."

John blinked a few times. "Molly, are you sure? I thought we just—"

She put her hand on his chest. "Please. Just do it."

He nodded slowly and leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Molly returned the touch and put a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself to feel something.

 _Anything._

And just as it began, it ended. John gave her a sad smile, already sensing what she was feeling.

"This would make sense," He began, watching his friend, "But it just…"

"Doesn't." She finished for him, her eyes sad, "Believe me. I wish it did."

He sighed. "Me too. You're great, Molly. Really."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks. You're wonderful. Kind, charming. Sensible," She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down, "Unlike some people."

He gave her a sad smile and kissed her head. "You deserve the world, Molly Hooper."

John gave her one final goodbye before leaving to hail a cab. Molly sniffled and began the hike up to her flat, once again spending the evening with Toby and Toby alone.

 _Damn you, Sherlock. You ruin everything._

Xxx

He was a block away. He had felt especially lonely that evening. Especially restless. John was off on a date and while he had spent the first half of the evening with Rosie and Mrs. Hudson, he had grown bored when the child was put to sleep.

Molly was always around to provide entertainment. She was an avid listener and herself had fascinating stories of death to share. Not to mention, her flat had plenty of things to keep him company—her telly and fat tabby cat for starters.

He was still a block away, watching as the couple separated. He watched her soft lips part, speaking to the mystery man. He watched her brown eyes, filled with emotion, and love, and reverence. He watched her squeeze his arm, whisper words into his ears.

Sherlock felt sick watching Molly kiss another man. He felt sick watching her share so much intimacy with another person. Namely, a person who was not him.

So, he stayed that block away, watching as she drifted into her building, thankfully alone. Against the cold brick of the wall, he waited for the faceless man to approach. He just needed to see the man who under no circumstances would ever be good enough for his Molly.

But as the street light illuminated the face, he found that he couldn't breathe. Short stature, salt and pepper hair, his standard date shirt in navy blue. A content face, a pleased smile, a knowing stride.

 _John._

Sherlock watched him disappear down the street and moved away from the brick wall, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. He couldn't move. His feet were too heavy, his breath too staggered, his head too empty.

 _John._

He leaned over and suddenly vomited, the unwanted discovery too much on his stomach.

 _John and Molly together._

 _You did this to yourself, didn't you?_

Xxx

A few days later, John showed up to Baker Street, a giggly Rosie in his arms. He strolled inside and set the toddler down, watching with a grin as she toddled towards the sofa. He looked around, until his eyes landed on a lump on his standard chair.

Sherlock was staring at the ceiling, his fingers tapping precariously against the body of his violin, which rested on his chest. John took note of the empty tea cups and biscuit wrappers before dropping to his own chair. He looked at Sherlock curiously.

"You alright, mate? You look a bit…" John began, his eyes focused on his friend.

Sherlock snorted and looked over to his friend, sitting up in the process. "I look a bit what? Am I not allowed to enjoy some tea in my own flat?"

John held his hands up and whistled. "Well, sorry I tried to show a bit of concern. I haven't heard from you since Friday."

His best mate scowled. "Mhm. I'm sure you've been plenty busy. Now, is there a reason you're here, or did you just fancy showing me how pleased you are?"

The doctor made a face. "How pleased I am? Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

Sherlock scowled. "As much I would enjoy seeing Rosie, I have a composition to write. You may see yourself out."

John blinked a few times before standing up. "Right. Fine. Call me if you get anything."

"We'll see."

That stopped John's movements. He turned back to Sherlock. "You'll see?"

He simply shrugged. "It depends on if such a case requires assistance."

John narrowed his eyes. "Right. Well, if you fancy being a dick for the day, then by all means. Have a good afternoon."

He picked up Rosie and stormed out, slamming the door in the process. Sherlock, in response, picked up an empty teacup and chucked it at the shut door. As it smashed and fell to the ground, he growled.

 _You're a traitor, John._

Xxx

Molly was finishing her final autopsy of the day when Sherlock strolled in, his coat billowing behind him. He had his normal scowl across his lips but seemed especially in a bad mood. She sighed and discarded her plastic gloves, preparing herself for whatever verbal lashing he'd throw her way.

"Molly," He began, his voice cold.

"Hello, Sherlock. How can I help you?" She asked, rolling her cart towards the sink. Sherlock followed her, his eyes locked on her form.

"I doubt you could. Based on your incredible lapse of judgement this weekend, I don't suppose you're capable of much. Do you understand the emotional vulnerability of someone who has lost a spouse?" He spat out, his eyes angry.

Molly, who had been washing a beaker, stopped to face Sherlock. "Wait. Sherlock. What are you talking about?"

He wasn't finished. "I mean, I suppose I get it. This way, you get to skip the hard bits. He knows your emotional trauma. He comes with a child and a steady job. Now you don't have to worry about your nightmare of becoming an unwed, childless 40-year-old in a few years' time."

Molly frowned and studied the detective. His words finally began to make sense. "Why do you thrive on being so… mean? And for the record, John and I—"

He held up his hand. "I don't need to hear how bloody happy you are and how you're having _loads_ of sex. What you do with Watson in your free time is none of my concern."

With that, he turned on his heels and stormed out, incidentally passing an incoming John. Sherlock sent the shorter man a menacing look before disappearing down the hallway. John made a face before entering the lab and looking at Molly.

"Christ, what's crawled up his arse? He's been even more of a prat than usual this week," John explained, before falling onto a lab stool, "I came here hoping I'd find him and all he does is glare at me. What's that about?"

Molly swallowed and hugged herself. She looked over at John and bit her lip. "I um… I think…" She took a shaky breath and whispered, "He thinks we're dating."

John couldn't help but laugh, causing Molly to frown. Noticing her reaction, he quickly stopped and sat up. "I'm not laughing at the idea. I'm laughing because he's such a dick."

She sighed and began to nervously chew on her thumb nail. "He said that he understood me going after you. That you'd help prevent me from eventually being forty, unmarried, and childless."

John made a face. "He said that to you?"

"Among other things. He said he didn't care if you and I were happy and having loads of sex."

He swallowed and ran his hand through his hair. "Of course. It makes perfect sense."

Molly frowned. "What does?"

"Him being such a git. I don't know how he found out about our date, but I'm not entirely surprised by his response," John explained.

"I don't understand."

John bit his lip and studied Molly. "I think Sherlock has feelings for you. I've been pretty certain of it for a few years. I just don't think he's come to terms with it."

Molly whimpered and clutched onto the desk, her legs suddenly feeling like jelly. "Come again? A few years?"

John nodded. "He's jealous. Plain and simple. Seeing you with me might be exactly what he needs to pull his head out of his arse."

"There's no way that Sherlock could have feelings for me. I mean—"

John smirked and bolted out of his stool. "That's it! We need to fake date!"

Molly turned red. "What? What are you talking about?"

"With us together, he'll be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you. He'll be so jealous and angry that he won't know what to do," John explained, a smirk on his lips, "And I can have well-meaning revenge on him for ruining my first proposal to Mary."

Molly gulped and bit her lip. "Are you sure John? Us pretending? Won't that be uncomfortable?"

John shrugged. "We don't have to go on any real dates. I'm perfectly happy to watch telly or take a nap. And in front of him, we just have to snog a few times. Nothing crazy. Besides, I could use the excitement. Things have been a bit, in Sherlock's words, dull lately."

 _Could I do this? Fake date John and hope to make Sherlock jealous?_

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

 _Nothing else has worked, has it?_

She met John's amused gaze. She took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yeah. Okay. Let's make Sherlock jealous."

John smirked. "Splendid. You fancy dinner to chat this through?"

Molly gulped and nodded. She followed John out of the morgue, her thoughts going a mile a minute.

 _Damn you, Sherlock. You never make things easy._

Xxx

"Lovers' spat?"

The voice of his friendly landlord knocked him out of the confines of his mind palace. He'd been so deeply immersed that he hadn't even heard the woman enter or begin to make a ruckus in the kitchen. From his spot on the sofa, it appeared that she was doing days old dishes. It also occurred to him that she had not stopped babbling since that first question.

"—used to take our frustrations out in bed, but I suppose you're quite different. But sometimes it's worth taking the high road and just—"

Sherlock sat up and ran a hand through his messy curls. He rubbed his eyes and struggled to his feet, surprised by how heavy his limbs felt. He entered the kitchen and studied Mrs. Hudson as she began to prepare him tea. When she spotted him, she gave him a megawatt smile.

"Oh, so you can get up when I make tea and not when I'm worried about you?" Mrs. Hudson asked, an amused smile crossing her features. She dropped teabags into their cups and leaned against the counter, taking in Sherlock's appearance.

"So," she continued, "Was it a lovers' spat? Is that why you've been cooped up in here?"

Sherlock scoffed. "For the thousandth time, Mrs. Hudson, John and I have never and will never be in a romantic relationship. Is that understood?"

Mrs. Hudson poured milk into her cup before bringing it to her lips. She made a face.

"John? Who said anything about John?"

Sherlock blinked a few times, still watching his landlord. "I don't—"

Mrs. Hudson waved her hand. "You know, for such an intelligent young man, you really act like a stupid boy," she explained, setting her cup down to add a dash more of sugar, "As charming as you and John would be together, I know that isn't who holds your heart."

He continued to stare, his face giving away nothing. "Nobody holds my heart."

"That's not true, Sherlock! Didn't your mum teach you not to lie?" She chastised softly. She pushed a mug towards Sherlock and offered him a soft smile.

"I assure you," she continued, her voice calm, "Being in love isn't bad. It may be scary. A tad nerve-wracking. Unpredictable. But it's not an awful thing."

Sherlock brought the mug to his lips and took a gulp, shutting his eyes as the familiarly prepared liquid slid down his throat, providing a comfort that he hadn't knew he needed. When he opened them, he met Mrs. Hudson's loving gaze. He set the mug down and focused his eyes on anything else. In his messy kitchen, it happened to be the filled bin.

"You know I'm always available to chat, don't you?" She offered, reaching over to give his hand a comforting rub, "Although I reckon talking through your feelings isn't exactly your thing."

Sherlock glanced down at her hand and couldn't help the frown that reached his mouth. He let a sigh escape his lips before trudging back into the sitting room, his tea in tow. Mrs. Hudson just groaned and followed the man-child.

"Sherlock, darling, holding in your feelings is a naughty habit. It's only going to hurt you in the end," She hurried out, not knowing how much longer she'd have the man's attention.

He scowled and dropped into his chair. Once settled, he sipped his tea and glared at the empty chair across from him. Mrs. Hudson looked at the chair and back to Sherlock.

"Perhaps Rosie will cheer you up. John is dropping her off later. He has another date. Seems to like the girl quite a bit—second date within a week!" She explained, glancing between Sherlock and the chair he was sending daggers at.

Mrs. Hudson clearly realized that line of thought was the wrong one to communicate, if Sherlock's scowling and merciless squeezing of his arm rests indicated. She quirked an eyebrow and watched the man bring his knees to his chest and bury his face in them.

"Maybe I should call Molly, since she's the only one—" She immediately stopped speaking, as the pieces began to fit in her head together.

"Oh dear," She whispered, her eyes locked on Sherlock's curled form. She carefully squatted to the floor, cautious of her temperamental hips and aching knees. Once (barely) comfortable, she held onto the side of the chair for support with one hand and began to rub Sherlock's back with the other.

"So," she began cautiously, unsure of her words, "Molly's dating John, isn't she?"

Sherlock did not move nor speak, but she felt his back tense under her rubbing. She couldn't help but frown—she had seen Sherlock in many forms and levels of falling apart. Never, however, had heartbreak been the root of said emotional crumbling.

"I know this can't be easy, sweetheart. Maybe you could explain to John—"

Sherlock bolted up and glared at the woman, his eyes murderous.

"Explain?" He spat out, "Explain what? That he's emotionally vulnerable and in no position to be in a relationship? That Molly is using him as a shortcut to her family aspirations? That no one could ever be good enough for her, not even him, someone I respect immensely?"

He shook his head and sprawled out, his long limbs settling against the chair. He shut his eyes and tilted his head back, forcing himself to take a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he kept them focused on the ceiling.

"Yes, it may be possible that I have developed some form of…" He took another shuddering breath, "romantic feelings for Molly. But it may also just be an ill-advised, overactive libido brought on by years of celibacy."

Mrs. Hudson couldn't help but snort. "You _may_ have romantic feelings?" She hit the back of his head and stood up. "Of course, you have romantic feelings! What you're feeling is not lust, Sherlock. It's jealousy. You're upset because the girl you love is shacking up with your best friend and playing house."

He looked over to the older woman and crossed his arms. He was fuming.

"I don't care what either of them do. If they'd like to shag all night, then they can do just that."

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes. "Oh, darling, when you finally want to chat, give me a ring."

With that, the old woman left, leaving Sherlock to settle in his chair. He dropped his head to his hands and gave his messy curls a frustrated pull.

Xxx

"He probably thinks we're shagging all night," John explained, spooning another forkful of pad Thai into his mouth, "Must be driving him up the bloody wall."

Molly couldn't help but blush at the thought of Sherlock getting jealous over her sleeping with another man. Of course, she and John were not currently shagging. Not even close. Both were exhausted from work and John was looking forward to an evening not spent watching Peppa Pig or cleaning up Rosie's spilled dinner.

Not to mention that they weren't interested in one another.

As a result, they sat on Molly's sofa, eating Thai takeaway and watching _Game of Thrones_. She had once upon a time tried to get Sherlock to watch the series, but he was uninterested in the fantasy world. So, she was excited to know that John was willing, and given their necessary fake dates, she now had a great excuse to do nothing but sit on the sofa, watching the series.

"So, what's next?" Molly asked, nervously playing with the remaining noodles in her takeaway container.

John managed to respond, his eyes still locked on the fantasy epic playing across the screen. "I figured we'd watch the next episode after this one? I'd leave before nine."

"I meant in the long run. Did you have a plan of some sort?"

He looked over at her and laughed. "Oh, yeah. I had a few ideas up my sleeve. You know, aside from our dates. I got Greg involved. He's going to invite us all out for drinks on Friday."

Molly swallowed and bit her lip. "All of us?"

John nodded. "Greg wants to see him sweat too. I reckon this shouldn't take too long. Sherlock may be a stubborn arse, but he also doesn't do well not getting his way."

She stood up and placed her leftovers in the fridge, considering John's words.

 _Could Sherlock really want me?_

"Are you sure that he has feelings for me, John? It just seems so… Unlike Sherlock," She shuffled back into her living room and leaned against the wall, watching him intently, "This is the same man that manages to insult me about eighty percent of the time he opens his mouth."

John ate another forkful of noodles and shook his head. "That's not true! It's more like forty percent, and it's declined annually, hasn't it?"

Molly sighed and gave him a slow nod. "This is the same man that comes to my flat simply for an audience when you've already heard him recount his incredible intellect."

He waved his hand. "He comes here because he likes seeing your pretty face. And Toby. He won't admit it, but he likes the cat."

She glanced over at the lazy cat, who was currently giving himself a tongue bath. Glancing back at John, she sighed.

"You really think he likes me?"

"No, I don't." John stretched across the sofa, patting his full stomach. At the sight of Molly's frown, he continued, "I think he loves you."

Molly swallowed. "You can't be—"

"I'm very serious, Molly. There are two people that understand him in the world. Both are in this room. One of them he uses to solve mysteries and chronicle his life online. The other, he fell in love with."

Her eyes welled up. "If he loves me, why won't he just say something?"

John sighed. "He hasn't come to terms with it himself, Molly. This is a man who used to proclaim that he had no friends. Admitting that he's fallen in love is not an easy task."

Molly sniffled and sat beside John. He gave her a soft smile and squeezed her hand.

"Believe me, this will work."

Molly wiped a few tears off her cheeks and tried to focus on the telly. After a few moments, she couldn't help but laugh, grabbing John's attention. He gave her an inquisitive look.

"Yes?"

"I wish I was attracted to you."

John made a face. "Jeez, thanks Molly."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful smile. "You're handsome and so sweet John. Unfortunately, I have a thing for emotionally unavailable men."

"Apparently so do I since I always put up with him," John added, now digging into a container of biscuits.

Molly leaned back to watch him and smiled softly. "Tell you what. Get me Sherlock and I'll introduce you to my cousin, Monica. She's gorgeous. Your type, I think."

He glanced over at her. "I like the sound of that."

"Then we have a deal. But first… We need to knock some sense into Sherlock."

John yawned and ate another biscuit. "No worries there, Molls. I promise, he's sweating it out as we speak."

Xxx

And John was certainly right.

Sherlock sent another kitchen knife into the wall, watching as the blade connected with the drywall and hideous wallpaper. He took a swig from the bottle of some sort of liquor dating back to his Christmas party years ago.

If Molly and John were going to have a fun night, why couldn't he?

Besides, all he really needed to have fun were sharp objects and alcohol.

 _And Molly._

Another knife went flying.

 **To be continued…**


	2. Honey, Honey

A few weeks had passed. And during that period, Sherlock had managed to keep his meetings with both Molly and John short and sweet.

 _Well, not sweet. The opposite of sweet._

Molly had only seen him a few times, and she knew his visits were strictly because his cases required her assistance. She would lift her head at the sound of the lab doors being shoved open, and before she'd choke out a hello, a literal list of demands would fall on her desk. He would be gone before she blinked.

And that's how they had communicated since her 'relationship' with John began. Even though John declared that everything was working perfectly, Molly wasn't so sure. She wasn't convinced that Sherlock had feelings for her. For all she knew, it was John that had him upset.

Maybe he didn't think Molly was good enough for his best mate. That John deserved more.

She sighed and continued her autopsy. It wasn't worth contemplating her fucked up romantic situation while determining the cause of death on a 42-year-old murder victim. Especially when Sherlock would return in a few hours, grab the results silently, and storm back out. She had never encountered a silent Sherlock. It hurt—

Her thoughts halted as Sherlock stormed back inside, the doors swinging behind him. Molly looked at the body and swallowed, officially realizing that she had been moving far too slowly for Sherlock's liking. She took a deep breath and focused on the man that still took her breath away.

"Sherlock—"

The coldness of his blue eyes sent shivers down her spine.

"I've given you four hours to complete the simplest of autopsies. If I had the facilities I could have conducted it myself," He stormed further into the lab, his hands clutching his leather gloves tightly, "Tell me. Are you so enamored with your newfound relationship that you are now incapable of doing your job?"

Molly blinked and narrowed her eyes.

 _Who does he think he is?_

"Sherlock, has it ever occurred to you that I have other work to do? That I can't always stop what I'm doing to tend to your—"

He scowled. "Don't mind me. I'm sure if John had accompanied me, you would have had the body examined three bloody hours ago!"

She crossed her arms. "Oh? Would I have? And where is John, by the way? Why isn't he assisting you?"

"I don't need John's assistance. I'm perfectly capable of solving the case on my own."

Molly frowned. "That shouldn't be why you keep—"

"Enough." His words were harsh and cut through her nerves like a knife, "I did not come here to hear about John."

"He's your best mate," Molly shot back, a pleading look in her eyes, "Why are you acting so—"

He took a step closer, his eyes wild. "My best friend? No, as of right now, John is quite the opposite."

She hugged herself and studied his face. "Then what am I, Sherlock?"

Molly stared at him, her heart hammering in her chest. He stuck his chin up and moved towards the door.

"You're an anomaly, Molly Hooper. One I was stupid enough to think I had figured out."

He disappeared out of the lab, leaving Molly to obsess over his words.

Xxx

"What's crawled up your arse, Sherlock? You've been a right git for the past, what, three weeks?" Lestrade glanced over to Donovan.

She snorted. "Three weeks? More like eight years," Sally rose to her feet and studied Sherlock, who sulked in the corner of Greg's office.

"What's been going on? And where's John been?" Greg pressed on, desperately trying to hide a knowing grin from his face, "Unlike him not to be tagging along."

Sherlock scowled and sipped the coffee that he had demanded Anderson fetch for him. "John has other things to attend to."

"Such as?" Sally asked, beating Lestrade to the question.

He narrowed his eyes and studied Sally with evident disdain. "Such as his newfound relationship."

"That's right!" Lestrade nibbled on his lip, squeezing his knees to remind himself not to grin, "He did mention that he was seeing Molly. They seem to be a good pair, don't you think?"

Sherlock sent daggers at Lestrade. "A good pair? Tell me, Grant, are you—"

Sally's loud laughter cut Sherlock's angry rant off, causing him to glance from Lestrade to her amused face. At his irritated glare, she stifled a laugh and couldn't help but pat the detective's knee, causing him to flinch. She smirked.

"So that's what this is about!" She leaned back in her chair and let out another laugh, "You're jealous!"

Sherlock hissed and glared at her. "For the thousandth time, I am not interested in John!"

She smirked. "You're a moron, Sherlock. Not John. Molly. You're jealous that he's seeing Molly."

Sherlock sputtered and bolted to his feet, his eyes blown wide. Sally watched on, a knowing smirk across her lips.

"Jealous?" He spat out, the words like venom on his lips, "I have no interest in the personal affairs of John or Molly. Why is that—"

Sally yawned and glanced over at Greg, whose shoulders were shaking in silent laughter. She looked back to Sherlock and smirked.

"Right. So, you don't care that they're going on romantic dates? Splitting Thai takeaway and snuggling on her sofa?" She asked, studying the erratic man.

Sherlock growled. "I don't care."

"Mhm. What about that John gets to hear about all her autopsies? That John gets to run through his day with Molly, sharing medical horror stories?"

He narrowed his eyes further. "I don't—"

"And then there's the snogging. Surely, they're in the honeymoon phase now. You don't care that he gets to kiss her lips, feel her skin, smell her perfume?"

Sherlock tensed and looked away, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Sally smirked and continued.

"Let's not forget the making love, shall we? You don't care that he's going to be the one to hold her close at night, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, reaching that breathless peek with her? That John is going to taste Molly's skin, smell her hair, whisper that he loves her?"

Sherlock swallowed and flinched. He began to shake his head vigorously. "Stop it, Sal—"

"Oh, then the family! More kids will come eventually, that's for sure. Do you think you'll be John's best man again? The god father of his children with Molly?" She glanced to Lestrade, who was no longer amused, but instead studied his friend with a frown, "They'll have John's blue eyes and Molly's nose, I'd think."

Sherlock silently studied his expensive shoes, his lanky frame shaking ever so softly. Greg sighed and stood up.

"I think he gets it, Sally. Let him be."

Sally rolled her eyes. "No, he doesn't. I'm waiting for him to hit me with some extremely rude deductions about how I haven't had sex in months or I'm placing my absurdly high expectations for love on his romantic life."

Lestrade looked over to Sherlock expectantly. The detective looked up from the ground and met his friend's concerned gaze. The penetrating, lost blue orbs had Greg staggering back.

"No, Sally, I'm not going to do that," Sherlock began, his voice surprisingly steady given the circumstances, "But I need you to answer a question for me."

Sally sighed and crossed her arms, mentally preparing herself for whatever he'd toss her way. "Right. Go on then. But if you ask about my sex life, or my lack thereof, I will call you a pervert and get you banned from here."

He just shook his head and looked to her, his eyes pleading. "No. Not that. What do I do?"

The look on her face was so priceless that Lestrade regretted not having his mobile out. Sally glanced at her boss, her mouth agape. Greg gave Sherlock a sad smile and rubbed his back.

"We'll get you through this, yeah? You just gotta let us know what you want." Greg explained, glancing between Sally's bewildered expression and Sherlock's pleading eyes.

"I… I want Molly. With me." Sherlock looked back towards Sally and swallowed, "I have no intention of ever seeing offspring between Molly and John. If she's going to be reproducing with anyone, it's going to be me."

Sally continued to stare at him. "So, you admit it, then? You admit that you're jealous? That you fancy Molly?"

Sherlock forced himself to stand up straight and gave the woman a curt nod. "Dr. Hooper is the only female I've ever encountered who is worthy of my affections. Should I desire companionship and offspring, she is the best and only option."

She blinked a few times. "Is that you saying you love her?"

The word love had Sherlock flinching. "How quickly do women fall in love? She couldn't already be in love with John, could she?"

Lestrade groaned and threw his head back. He muttered softly to himself before focusing back on Sherlock. "Look, mate, I think they're just testing the waters. I'd reckon you still have a good chance."

Sherlock swallowed and ran a hair through his curls. "How am I supposed to steal her away? I… I don't want to lose John too."

Greg bit his lip. "Grab a pint with me tonight and we'll talk it through, alright? You could use some liquor in you."

"Very well." Sherlock moved to the door and glanced back at Sally. "Sally…"

She made a face. "Save it, Sherlock. Don't remind me that I need a man."

"I was going to say thank you. And you don't need a man. You're quite capable on your own."

Sherlock gave the pair a curt nod before disappearing out the door. Sally couldn't hide the smile at Sherlock's words. Meanwhile, Greg let out a noise of disbelief. She glanced at her boss and quirked an eyebrow.

"Something funny? You think I need a man?"

Greg rolled his eyes. "No. He actually admitted that he fancies her!"

Sally nodded. "Sad though, isn't it? I know Molly used to fancy the psycho, but she'd have to be bloody stupid to leave a nice bloke like John for Sherlock. I don't know what the freak is going to do."

Greg smirked. "About that. John and Molly aren't actually dating."

"Come again?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "They got set up together on a blind date. They tried it out and it just didn't work. Somehow, Sherlock found out and was being a hardcore jealous git. So, John thought faking it might teach Sherlock a lesson and force him to acknowledge his feelings for Molly."

Sally crossed her arms. "You know, as much as I love the idea of messing with Sherlock, the poor freak is falling apart here!"

Greg sighed and nodded. "Look, maybe the methods weren't the best, but it's finally getting him to realize that he cares for her deeply. Now, I just need to get him to act on those feelings."

"Right. What's the plan then?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. I'm hoping liquor will do the trick."

She rolled her eyes. "Is that for him or for you?"

Greg smirked and went back to his desk. "Get back to work, Donovan."

Xxx

Molly watched John add more sugar to his coffee and sighed. They were sitting at a nice café a few blocks from the Yard's go-to pub, sharing dinner before what would surely be a tumultuous evening. She nibbled on the salad in front of her and sighed.

 _I shouldn't have ordered food. I'm not going to keep this down._

John sipped his coffee and looked back to his date. "You good, Molls? You're turning green."

She swallowed and sipped her water. "I'm just…" She took a shuddering breath and hugged herself. "What if you're wrong, John? What if he's being a prat because… I don't know! He doesn't think I'm good enough for you, or he's just jealous of being left out!"

John laughed softly and gave Molly's hand a comforting squeeze from across the table. "Believe me, Molly, he's jealous because it's me with you. Not him."

She frowned and shook her head. "He's never cared about me before! Do you know how many times I gave him chances? How many times I asked him to dinner, to coffee, to god knows what? And all I got were demands to fetch him a cuppa or half-hearted compliments in exchange for favors."

He leaned back in his chair and studied his friend. "I know. He's been a git. But… You know Sherlock. You're one of the only people that do. He's an odd bloke. He's not going to express admiration that same way you or I do."

"Exactly," She whispered, her eyes focused on the condensation dripping down her water glass, "so maybe we have this all wrong."

John sighed and shook his head. "I'd reckon that we don't, but if we don't make any progress in the next few weeks, we can call it quits, alright?"

She frowned and nodded. "But I want to break up with you then."

He snorted. "Alright Molly. As you wish."

Xxx

Sherlock and Lestrade sat in the familiar pub, tucked away in a corner table. Two pints sat between them, as well as a bowl of questionable peanuts that Lestrade kept dipping his hand into. Upon swallowing the last of his current handful, he focused his attention on Sherlock.

"Drink up. Nothing soothes a broken heart like a round," Lestrade offered, bringing his glass to his lips, "Only thing that got me through my divorce."

Sherlock sighed and sipped his own glass. "I'm thankful you didn't bring any of the morons you work with. Like Anderson."

Greg laughed. "Yeah, well, Sally did want to tag along, but I figured just us would be best."

Sherlock nodded and focused on the amber liquid in front of him. He shifted in his seat before glancing back at the man across from him.

"I thought by removing myself from their presence, I'd be able to get over this silly infatuation I have," Sherlock began, his voice tired, "As it turns out, it just made my longing worse."

He sighed again and ran a hand through his unruly curls. "Truthfully, I'm scared. I don't want to lose my friendship with either Molly or John. I value their presence more than I ever thought possible," He swallowed and looked back to his glass, "But I'm unable to imagine a scenario where I could be around them, should they continue their relationship. It's too… Painful."

Greg smiled sadly and watched his friend, amazed by the emotional vulnerability of the detective. He had never see the man so passionate or open. It was certainly panning out to be a much different evening that his usual nights with the curly-haired detective.

"Well, then I reckon you've got nothing to lose, Sherlock. Just tell her how you feel."

He shook his head and studied the scratched-up wood of the table. "Do I have any right to do that? Sure, I… care about Molly, but any person with half a brain can see that John is a much better match for her. And John… He deserves happiness too."

Greg sighed and sipped his beer. "Sherlock, now is not the time to be selfless. Now is the time to fight for what you want. John will bounce back and find someone else. And Molly? If she cares about you, as she has in the past, then she would be extremely happy with you."

Sherlock sulked. "Do you think they've shagged?"

That caused Greg to choke on his mouthful. "Uh, well, I wouldn't be able to say."

"I hope not. That would be unfortunate," Sherlock whispered, as if only to himself.

Lestrade managed to distract Sherlock for about a half hour, regaling the detective with stories of past criminals, Donovan's lashings at other co-workers, and Anderson's general stupidity. He was waiting for the ball to drop, knowing that soon John and Molly would stroll in, and the evening would take a turn for the uncomfortable.

He had been in the middle of discussing Sally's verbal take down of a district attorney a week prior when John and Molly strolled in, hand in hand. Sherlock immediately tensed when his eyes landed on the couple. He glanced back over to Lestrade, his gaze murderous.

"Did you invite them?" He spat out, his eyes frantically shifting from the Greg to the couple.

Greg opened his mouth to respond but was thankful for Molly's polite voice instead. He hadn't figured out whether he was going to lie—thankfully Molly's interruption saved him from making the hard choice.

"Hello, Greg. How are you?" She asked, her voice soft and unsure. She handed her jacket to John and watched him dutifully go to hang it up. She sat down, across from Sherlock, and studied the detective with curious eyes.

"Good! Tired. Thankful for the weekend," Greg explained, a laugh escaping his lips. He sipped his beer and glanced over to Sherlock, who was busy on his mobile. He nudged him.

Sherlock gave him a lethal glare before looking across the table. When his eyes landed on Molly, taking in her form-fitting dressed and red lips, he clutched the table.

"So, you just couldn't resist flaunting your relationship to the world, could you?" He asked, his tone harsh, "You're at a pub, Molly. Not a casino in Macau."

John dropped into his seat beside Molly and set Sherlock a look. "Hey mate, that's no way to talk to my girlfriend. You mind?"

"Your girlfriend?" Sherlock laughed and sipped his drink, "Is that what we're calling this? Surely by now you two are engaged to be married. Why wait when you both clearly have the end game in mind?"

Molly crossed her arms and pursed her lips. "Marriage? That's a wonderful idea, Sherlock." She glanced over to John and stuck her hand out, "Honey, I think a nice, big ring would look good, don't you think?" She couldn't help looking back over to Sherlock.

John grabbed her hand and nodded vigorously. "I agree. Imagine the wedding. Where would we get married? Somewhere exotic, I reckon. And then there's the wedding party!"

Sherlock tensed and clutched his glass, watching his friends with wide eyes. "Oh, is that so? Why even wait for a big wedding? Why not drop by a courthouse?"

Molly stuck her nose up and moved closer to John, although her eyes maintained focus on the detective.

"Well, since I'm _so_ bloody infatuated with John and making sure everyone knows it, I can't imagine not having a huge wedding and inviting everyone in the city," Molly explained, her eyes never leaving Sherlock's face, "Doesn't that sound splendid, honey?"

The doctor nodded. "Oh, of course! We'd make it romantic. Say, mate, would you be interested in being my best man again?" John asked, studying Sherlock's face.

Sherlock took a gulp from his glass and glanced between the couple, bits of beer coating his arm from his shaking hands. He forced out a laugh and settled his attention on Molly.

"So that's it, then? You lot are just taking the easy way out? Even a moron could spot the lack of chemistry and sexual interest you have in one another. How you could want to get—"

Molly grabbed John's tie and pulled the man towards her, catching his lips in a surprising kiss. While startled at first, John immediately responded. Taking cues from some of her favorite films, Molly made sure to pull at his perfectly combed hair, and desperately hoped that she'd stain his lips red.

Sherlock jumped to his feet, the table wobbling as his body was freed. His half-empty pint fell to the floor, although he paid little attention to the shattered glass. Instead, he watched with furious eyes as Molly snogged his best friend. From beside him, Greg sighed and sipped his beer, preparing for the inevitable.

Satisfied with her display, Molly pulled back, smoothing John's shirt in the process. She glanced over to Sherlock and rose to her feet to match his movements. She cleared her throat and made a show of primping her hair.

"Believe me, Sherlock," She began, her voice hoarse, "John and I have plenty of… sexual chemistry."

Sherlock glanced over to his best friend, his eyes shifting from the disheveled hair, to his red stained lips, to his wrinkled shirt and tie. He looked back to Molly and narrowed his eyes.

"He has a bad knee, a toddler, and a stressful job. As if he'd be able to fulfill your sexual appetite."

Molly crossed her arms and glared. "And you know so much about my sexual needs?"

"More than you'd think."

"Whatever John can't do, I can do myself."

"I would beg to differ. John can't give you orders and bend you over the kitchen counter without laughing and wanting to clean the surface."

Molly slammed her chair into the table and put her hands at her hips. "Relationships aren't just about sex, Sherlock."

"Wrong again. Relationships that begin with bad sex end on average sixty percent faster than those with healthy levels of intimacy."

John scowled and crossed his arms. "What makes you think we're having bad sex?"

Sherlock laughed and ruffled his curls. "I think? No, I know. It's evident in the tension in Molly's shoulders, your reaction to her snog, and the dress that she's wearing. Either the sex is awful or it's simply not happening."

John and Molly exchanged a look. As expected, Sherlock picked up on the exchange and stood up straighter. He cleared his throat.

"I see. Waiting until the wedding then? How… Pure." He rolled his eyes and took his mobile back out, "Oh how I _envy_ you," He spat out, his voice filled with contempt.

John rose to his feet and nodded. "Yeah, Sherlock, you do. Would you like to know what it's like snogging Molly?"

He scowled and glared at his best mate. "Shut up, John."

"No thanks. She has these really soft lips. Meant for kissing, really. And she knows exactly how to use her tongue. It's like having your thoughts sucked out by angel lips and—"

"I suggest you stop speaking, John."

But Dr. Watson wasn't swayed. "Not to mention, holding her close. Her laugh just tickles your insides and makes you want to keep her forever. And of course—"

"This is your last warning, John."

He smirked and continued. "I just know once we shag, it's going to be the most bloody marvelous thing in the world—"

And then, Greg and Molly watched, one in horror, the other in thinly veiled desire, as Sherlock tackled his best mate to the ground. The pub erupted in cheers, men rushing to watch the pair wrestle on the ground. Molly watched with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth. Greg sipped his beer and figured he'd give the pair a few moments before breaking them up.

"Are you fucking mad?" John screamed, trying to hold off the rabid detective.

Sherlock growled and attempted to pin John to the ground, his eyes wild. "Am I mad? How about you? How could you do this?"

John tried to shove at the much stronger man. "Do what?"

"You know what!"

"No! Not until you bloody admit what this is about! You've been an absolute wanker, getting angry about some sort of betrayal when you can't even admit why you're upset!"

Sherlock growled and shoved the smaller man against the dirty wood floor of the pub. He let out a desperate breath. "Is this some sort of pathetic revenge? A way to show me after my relapse and what happened with—"

Sensing what was happening next, Greg hurried over to the men and ripped Sherlock away, allowing John to sit up. The two continued to glare at each other as the crowd dispersed, murmuring about the pathetic brawl. Greg gave the men each a look.

"You're going to talk this through like adults. Not bloody children," Greg shook his head and went to the bar, joining Molly to collect water for the pair.

Sherlock continued to glare at John. "You—"

John growled. "Shut it, Sherlock. You've misread this entire fucking situation. And I refuse to make things clear until you can admit what your heart wants and why you bloody attacked me!"

He shook his head and started to walk towards the bar. He stopped and gave Sherlock one final look.

"You're my best mate. You have to know that I'd never do anything to intentionally hurt you. With that in mind, I know you're smart enough to figure this one out."

He shook his head and met Molly at the bar. Sherlock watched the pair exchange a few words, before John led her to the door. As they slipped into the coats, Molly looked over at the detective and frowned, before they disappeared through the doors.

Sherlock swallowed and sat back down. He glanced up at Greg, who approached the table, two new pints in his hands. He shook his head and yawned.

"Is it possible for you to have a drink without causing a scene?" Greg asked, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid.

"He said I've misread the situation. How could I have misread the situation?" Sherlock asked aloud, although presumably to only himself. Greg snorted.

"Sometimes the most confusing questions have the most obvious answers."

Sherlock blinked a few times, considering Lestrade's words. He sipped his beer and faced the man. "What was your wife's pet name for you?"

Greg snorted. "She called me 'stud' until the marriage fell apart. Then I was relegated to a passive aggressive 'honey'," He explained, "that's when I moved from 'love' to 'cheating bitch'."

Sherlock bolted to his feet. "Of course! It all makes sense!"

"Am I missing something?"

"Always, Lestrade, always. Thanks for the company. I have a woman to steal."

Sherlock hurried off with a delighted "Cheers!" before disappearing through the doors. Lestrade took a gulp of beer and sighed.

 _How pathetic has my social life become when I can't even get Sherlock to stay for drinks on a Friday night?_

 **To be continued…**


	3. His Prize

Sherlock was on a mission. While his body was moving at a relentless pace towards Molly's flat, his mind was focused on one thing and one thing alone.

 _Honey._

No, not the sweet substance frequently added to tea or found coating the yellow paw of Winnie the Pooh. No, not the sticky biproduct of bees and other insects.

 _Honey, Love, Dollface, Baby._

By the time he reached her front door, his knocking was ruthless. Thankfully, in part from his obnoxious banging, Molly was quick to swing the door open. She had already changed into a pair of well-worn pyjamas, if evident by the tattered ankles and permanent ice cream stains around the stomach.

At the sight of Sherlock, she let out a squeak and tried to close the door. Sherlock, however, would not be budged, and shoved the door fully open, his eyes glued to her form. She swallowed and stepped aside, letting him enter.

"Sherlock, why are you here? It's late and after the pub I don't think—"

He laughed and dropped onto the sofa, propping his feet onto her coffee table. Toby immediately joined his lounging form, burrowing into his black trousers. Sherlock simply grinned, continuing to watch Molly. At his happy spirits, she made a face.

"Sherlock, are you drunk?"

He scoffed and began to pet the cat. "Nope."

"High?"

"Of course not."

She swallowed and shifted her weight onto another foot. "Then why are you smiling like that?"

Sherlock grinned and sprang to his feet. Within two steps, he was towering over Molly, a fanatical smile across his lips. She gulped and took a step back, clearly freaked out by Sherlock's unusual behavior.

"Oh, I doubted how clever you two are—I mean John can be such a, well, such an idiot!" He sputtered out, tugging at his curls, "But you pulled this off! I believed for nearly a month!"

Molly swallowed and tightened her dressing gown. "Sherlock, what are you—"

"So, clearly you lot have gotten smarter, craftier, sneaker, or I've just lost my marbles!" He moved closer to Molly and looked her up and down, "Perhaps Mrs. Hudson has been sneaking herbal soothers into my biscuits."

She blinked a few times, both shocked by Sherlock's giddiness and the implication that Mrs. Hudson had possibly been baking edibles. She cleared her throat.

"Sherlock, really, why are you—"

He wasn't done.

"But how did it start?" He began to pace, his mind moving a mile a minute, "Surely you two didn't arbitrarily decide to go on a date. You wouldn't ask him, and he wouldn't ask you."

His eyes darted around the room, until they landed on Molly's navy twill jacket, one she normally wore on breezy evenings. With long-legged strides, he moved towards the coat and eyed it suspiciously. His lips quirked into a smile as he picked up a long, white hair, clearly belonging to a dog.

He turned to Molly, his eyes rather crazy.

"You only wear this jacket when the weather is chilly, not cold. Therefore, it hasn't been worn in approximately a month, which was the last time we've seen the temperature below 10 degrees."

He spun on his heels, holding up the white hair. He tilted his head, evaluating the fur.

"This fur belongs to an American Eskimo dog, a breed known for their large, white coats," He studied Molly intently, "I happen to know your Great Aunt Ruth, the eclectic elderly woman on your mother's side, owns two of these dogs, based on your previous discussion of the woman and her knowledge of mid-sized breeds."

Sherlock circled her, his hand propped under his chin. "And based on the receipt in your pocket for a coffee in Clerkenwell dated approximately a month ago, that's when you last visited your Aunt."

He hummed to himself and continued his deductions. "Clearly, you agreed to go on a blind date with John because your elderly Great-Aunt pushed for the meeting. However, you felt nothing and decided to remain friends."

He stopped his pacing but continued to watch her intently. "Yet, for some reason, you claim to be dating John."

Molly swallowed. "Sherlock, we are dating."

He let out a hoarse laugh. "Drop the act, Molly. It's poorly performed. The evidence of your deceit is glaringly obvious."

"How so?"

He stepped towards her, his eyes blown back.

"Because you called John 'honey'."

Molly blinked a few times, wondering if she had heard Sherlock properly. "Sorry? You're claiming my relationship is fake because I called John a pet name?"

He scoffed. "No, Molly, you did not call John a pet name. You called him something extremely impersonal. Something that suggested no emotional attachment."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Very much so."

"Sherlock, that's ridiculous—"

He growled and moved forward.

"Molly Hooper, you are the definition of sentimental. Everything gets a bloody scrapbook, or a friendship bracelet, or a token to remember a moment by."

He caged her into the wall, his eyes as wide as saucers, his heart hammering in his chest. "For as sentimental as you are, any man you had feelings or genuine interest for would be given something more thoughtful than a simple "honey"."

Sherlock ran his finger down her cheek, enjoying her shiver in response.

"You called Moriarty 'Jim-Jim' in private," his eyes narrowed in disgust, "You called Tom 'Armie', a derivative of his last name 'Armstrong'. Your brother is 'Big Jack', your best mate is 'Meanie', even your bloody cat has a loving nickname."

And then, even though it seemed impossible, he moved closer to her. His eyes dropped to her lips before moving back to her wide eyes.

"As if you'd call your boyfriend 'honey'."

Molly gulped and shut her eyes, desperately trying to ignore his warm breath on her face. He moved his face towards her, his hands moving to her hips.

"You care for John as much as I do. As a friend and nothing more." He began to rub his thumbs on her cloth-covered stomach, his focus still very much on her shocked face, "Yet, you've pretended to be in a relationship with him for a month. Why?"

With that question, Molly made a lackluster attempt to push him away. As expected, he was too much man to push around. She let out a cry and did it again, until deciding to just beat her fists into his chest.

"You idiot!" She cried out, desperately avoiding his gaze, "What do you want from me? Do you want a prize for figuring it out? You want me to tell you how much of a genius you are?"

Sherlock continued to stare at her. "Yes. A prize would very much make me happy."

Molly let out a half laugh, half sob. "God, you are such a prat! Why is this fun for you? Great, you figured it out! John and I don't fancy each other. But we did it—"

He cut her off with a soft kiss. It was his first one in quite a while, and he was hoping it was a correctly timed one at that. His thumbs rubbed light circles on her stomach as his curls tickled her damp cheeks.

Molly had moved her fists from his chest to his neck, where she immediately pulled his body flush against her. And once her arms had attached around him, and his hands had a steady grip on her hips, that soft kiss turned into quite a snog.

A snog with teeth bumping, tongues fighting, lips moving, moans escaping, and fat tabby cat rubbing against their ankles.

Desperate for air, Molly jumped back, her hand immediately coming to cover her mouth. She stared at Sherlock, her mouth agape. With a swallow, she managed to squeak out a few words.

"What—I—You—Why?"

He cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt. "That was in response to two of your questions. The first being what I wanted."

He took another step forward, his eyes locked on her blushing form. "The answer is you. Then, your follow-up question inquired about a prize. I think that was a fine prize. Not enough, but a pleasant introduction."

Molly swallowed. "I don't understand."

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, you do. You're not stupid. I even complimented you _and_ John's intelligence when I got here."

She whimpered and looked away. "What do you mean that you want me?"

He took a step forward and ran his hand across her flushed cheek. "Molly, I…." He sighed and looked down, before forcing himself to meet her eyes, "Somehow, within the past two or so years, I've developed romantic feelings for you."

He swallowed and ran his thumb across her slightly swollen bottom lip. "And seeing you with John was devastating. Knowing that you could be with a man like him, someone so dependable and incredible as John, was…"

He cursed and pulled at his curls, "It was agonizing. I was so deathly afraid that you'd fall in love with him. Rightly so, since he'd treat you well and be everything a good boyfriend should be."

After a deep breath, he pulled her hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the top. "This past month has been one of the most difficult of my life. And seeing you with him reinforced something that I have been denying for far too long."

Molly wiped some freshly fallen tears from her face, still watching Sherlock. His words, as expected, had melted her insides, and turned into her a red faced, teary-eyed mess. She sniffled and pulled her hands out of his, instead moving to cup one of his cheeks.

As her thumb gently caressed his skin, she began to speak. "You're an idiot, Sherlock. But I still love you."

At her words, he immediately perked up. He cleared his throat. "You do?"

"I've never stopped." She sighed and continued to rub his cheek. "When Aunt Ruth set us up, I didn't know it was John. And when he showed up, we decided to enjoy dinner as friends. It wasn't until he walked me home that I realized how amazing of a pair we'd be."

At the confused look on Sherlock's face, she continued. "He was sensible and predictable. The sort of man I always thought I'd want." She sniffled and looked down, "So, I asked him to kiss me. You must have seen it. It would have explained your response. But… I didn't feel anything. I reckon it felt like kissing a sibling."

Sherlock frowned and studied her. "Yes. I saw your kiss. I went to visit you that evening. I was lonely. Imagine my disappointment when I see you kissing some bloke. Then, imagine my devastation when it turns out to be my best mate."

Molly sniffled and nodded. "After your behavior," She gave him a look, "Which frankly was unnecessarily rude, John suggested we fake date. To…" She bit her lip and let out a soft laugh, "Make you jealous. I didn't think it would work, but John said it would. John… Well, he said you had feelings for me."

Sherlock swallowed and considered her words. "For once, he figured something out prior to my own awareness."

She whimpered and dropped her head to his chest. She pulled at his jacket and sighed.

"Oh, Sherlock! I can't believe you have feelings for me," She whispered, staring up at him in admiration, "I've loved you for so long."

Sherlock swallowed and wrapped his arms around her. "I apologize, Molly. I've been blind for far too long."

She hit his chest and couldn't help but laugh. "You were such a prat! You ignored me for three weeks. Who do you think you are, writing me lists of demands?"

He couldn't help but blush. "Yes, well, I realize now that my behavior was unacceptable. Being around you two made me more jealous than I thought possible."

Molly sniffled and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "You attacked John at the pub."

Sherlock cursed. "He deserved it! He was purposely antagonizing me! Did you hear his descriptions of kissing you?" He flinched and looked back to Molly, "And you kissed him tonight!"

She couldn't help but giggle. "You insulted our sexual chemistry. I had to do something."

"You two had none!"

She crossed her arms. "That may be true, but we had a role to play!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled Molly onto her sofa. He began to play at her loose locks, thinking about how his evenings would always be like this. Relaxing, with Molly in his arms, a fat cat trying to wiggle his way between the couple.

As he pulled gently at her hair, Molly turned and studied him. At the attention, he quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"You said something interesting at the pub. You said that John wouldn't be able to fulfill my needs because…" She flushed and cleared her throat, "Because as he fucked me in the kitchen, he'd be preoccupied with the need to clean it."

Sherlock yawned. "Yes, I said that. And it's true."

Molly blushed. "Why was that the first thing that came to mind?"

He smirked. "Because I deduced that you like to be dominated, ergo rough sex on your kitchen counter is something that would likely appeal to you."

"Sherlock!" She squeaked out, her face now bright red, "How—what—I—"

Sherlock smirked. "Perhaps tomorrow? It's been a long night."

Molly whimpered and nodded. "Yes. I'd like that very much."

He grinned. "I look forward to many evenings like this. Just you, me, and Sir Tobias of Catelot."

She groaned and bit her lip. "That's his real name. Toby is the nickname."

Sherlock chuckled. "I really do love you, Molly."

At his words, she buried her face in his neck, her hammering heart too much for the evening.

"Say it again."

"I love you, Molly."

Xxx

Three weeks later, John was in rather good spirits. Sherlock and Molly had finally found their way to each other, alleviating plenty of stress and tension from all their lives. John always figured getting his best mate laid would make his life a lot easier.

He just wished it would have happened years ago.

At any rate, he figured his life was better in a routine. Fun stuff always led to trouble. And at his age, trouble led to either heart burn or a sore back in the morning. He _had_ been going by that frame of reference, still waiting on an official date with Molly's "gorgeous" cousin Monica—the two had been in contact but had yet to find a shared available date.

So, after the blind date ordeal with Molly, and the subsequent fake relationship, John had been ready to put off finding another woman. Sure, he could literally _die_ for a good shag (frankly even mediocre would do), but after a year without, what more would a few weeks do?

Well, that had been what his brain said. Per usual, his cock disagreed, which is how he found himself sitting in a dimly-lit booth in the back of a fancy French restaurant. Clad in his favorite blue date shirt, his hair perfectly combed back, he was ready to meet his new woman.

Initially, he had been averse to another blind set up by Ruth, but he realized he actually liked her first match. She was right—Molly was wonderful and was a good fit for him. It just hadn't worked out, and even though the old lady was disappointed, she was quick to recommend another woman that frequented her favorite hair salon.

Ruth had labeled Sara as hard-working, fiercely loyal, and described some of the fascinating conversations between the two as they got their hair fixed up, month after month. While going out with a Sara had reminded John of some less than stellar dates in his past, he was really up for anything at this point.

 _This is what happens when you let your cock control your brain, John._

It wasn't until he had decided on Beef bourguignon for dinner when a familiar voice had him glancing up. Standing in front of him, clad in a figure-hugging dress and makeup, was certainly one of the last people he expected to see.

"John?"

He cleared his throat. "Sally?"

"Well, better than the freak I suppose."

 _London is far too big of a city for this to keep happening._

She slid into her seat and quirked an eyebrow at his open mouth. Not at all put off by her date's identity, Sally shrugged and grabbed the menu, immediately flipping through it. At her nonchalance, John took the hint and shut his mouth, quick to order the couple a bottle of wine.

 _I'm on a date with Sally Donovan._

He took another glance at Donovan, admiring the way her mocha skin glistened in the candle light. He had never seen her in a dress before.

 _This might work._

 _John, was that your cock or your brain?_

 _Christ, it doesn't even matter anymore._

 _ **The End**_


End file.
